


in this war of hearts

by Prettything_uglylie



Category: Hemlock Grove, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettything_uglylie/pseuds/Prettything_uglylie
Summary: "Why do you have a gun?" Peter rasps, staring at the glinting silver of the gun - that looks entirely too expensive but probably like retail to a Godfrey - before his eyes draw to Roman's slim shirtless torso.He tries not to stare. He fails."Oh, you didn't hear?" Roman hums, moving the gun in the small desk between the door and the kitchen island and that's when Peter notices it: the boxcutter tucked into the waistband of Roman's underwear. Peter is still staring at the pale expanse of Roman's revealed skin as he turns to grab bourbon in the shelving unit of the open set of the cabinet before leaning it up in offer. Peter nods. Roman continues, Peter continues to stare at the porcelain skin of Roman's shoulder imagining sucking dark hickeys into the skin."Everyone's trying to kill us again."





	in this war of hearts

The bar is dark and filthy, smelling of drugs, sex and blood - the pound of heartbeats and the tick of the pulses are louder than the music to his starved ears. 

He hadn't really thought this through. He thinks of his two blood donors; his two alternative options that he hadn't relied on when he should have. There isn't usually much to visits like this - god, he had been to clubs a million times prior to this and they had all ended up with him going home with someone just averaging the middle scale of attractive or edging over it - but this...this threat of hunger felt different. 

His skin feels as though its crawling, a crux of hunger pains digging into the pit of his stomach and his entire body feels foreign but claustrophobic, like he's stuck in a coma-induced dream again but with those thoughts, comes a whole new rush of panic. The days in that disoriented world had been slanted, the words rushing through him and both sticking but not quite making much sense. It both trips him up, makes him scared but makes it feel like rain-soaked image of home. 

Home feels like pain and blood but it is home, and in these canopies of broken mirror images, he is hungry - and he is as much monster as he was born to be. 

Soaked to the elbows in future blood, the world seems to play victim.

It always does for a Godfrey.

 

* * *

 

 

Chris Argent is not old. Despite the years of anguish and recovery that has stained his hair a smoked grey with only pure spots of brown (only spots of youth, noticeable by those looking for it only, and like a tainted looking glass back into his teenage years) and his unruly bushed beard, he is not old as people would be lead to believe. 

But he's still tired. 

He's still too tired to wait for an resemblance of the Order of The Dragon and in their ranks of too many hunters that he's pissed off or purists who like to shove their rhetoric down his throat, he finds himself growing tired. Leaning back in his chair, eyelids drooping and his repuatation already shattered too entirely, Chris thinks about letting himself drift into the sweet safety of unconsciousness until his father's elbow makes contact with his ribs and he startles awake. 

"Hello," the new man at the door says, his eyes unblinking and terrifying in many ways, "I'm Michael Chasseur." 

Chris's phone dings loudly and at the same time that the hunters glare at him, Gerard rasps, 

"Hello, Michael." 

Chris has two different people for messages that both give him a heart attack; 

 

(6) D. Hale: _People are dying, Chris. Where are you?_  

(14) Dickwolff _: ISAAC IS MISSING ARGENT_


End file.
